


Constellations of Scars

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Ficlet, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They share their lives because they share their bodies and hearts with each other, and together, they share a single soul as well. They don’t talk about it, but such apparent truths do not need uttered in order to exist."</p><p>***</p><p>Wherein Cas finds greatness in the smallest of moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations of Scars

Cas lost his grace several years ago. When the last light of it finally faded away, Dean was there with him, staring into Cas with his soulful green eyes as the fire went out, flames becoming embers becoming ashes.

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was no more.

He became Cas, human being of earth, advocate of free will.

There was no longer such a thing as being a soldier of free will, because, as the human essence is wont to do, free will always wins out over both good and evil, the greatest of wars narrowing down to the tiniest feats of the wills of individual men, with their small minds and their limited senses and their ability to place the petty before the great, over and over and over again.

Cas became one of them, and Dean taught him how to be happy, to see beyond the petty, to overcome the tragedy, to find greatness in smallness.

So when Cas slowly wakes up on an easy Sunday morning, he props his head up on his hand and gazes down at Dean’s sleeping form, the hard edges of bone and rippling muscle having smoothed over in the past few years much like their hearts, which were once ragged and bleeding, but, with the help of the great healer Time, have managed to become sutured up well enough so that they have learned to appreciate the good among the daily evils of basic human existence.

Cas likes Dean when he’s like this. Cas likes Dean all the time, but he especially likes watching Dean sleep, even when his hair is tousled and his mouth is slightly parted and his eyes are flitting back and forth behind his eyelids, dreaming of times that are hopefully as peaceful as their present. Cas likes Dean when he’s like this because Dean has no filters, no masks, no defenses that he still keeps up to this day out of a lifetime of habit.

But Cas is patient with Dean, like Dean is patient with Cas. Cas smoothes the rough edges of Dean’s perception, he smiles when Dean scowls, he kisses Dean when he panics, or when he’s sad, and especially when he’s happy. Cas doesn’t get mad anymore. He doesn’t see a reason to. He just lets whatever emotion Dean is feeling crest over him in a wave, and he’s always there to pull Dean out of the raucous ocean of his past that tries to drown him every day.

Dean rolls over and curls up in Cas’s chest, forehead pressed against his sternum, sliding his leg up to his waist so that their legs are entangled in each other under the soft down comforter of their bed. Cas smiles, and leans down to smell Dean’s hair, which smells like Cas’s hair, because they use the same shampoo, and they shower together most days, and they wear the same clothes, and eat the same food, and live in the same tiny, old house in the suburbs of a completely forgettable town.

They share their lives because they share their bodies and hearts with each other, and together, they share a single soul as well. They don’t talk about it, but such apparent truths do not need uttered in order to exist.

Cas trails his fingers down Dean’s bicep and places his hand over it gently, not gripping him tight and raising him from perdition, but holding him close and keeping him on solid ground, needing no gravity but the foundation that their love provides one another. Their love is greater than purgatory, and hell, and heaven, because there is nothing  in the plane of reality better than the small bed that they share every day of their lives, a home built from their embrace, protecting and comforting and shielding each other from the tragedy of their pasts, and the burden of their unknown futures. The present is what consoles them, and what settles the ever-present chaos within their tortured hearts.

Cas has Dean’s skin mapped in his mind. He knows every mole and freckle and scar on his body. He traces them with his fingers, making constellations on Dean’s skin that he names, tiny poems of devotion, illustrations of love itself manifested on flesh, proof beyond a doubt that Cas’s Father created Dean because nothing is so perfect as this man in his arms, breathing deeply and clutching onto Cas like a lifeline, because that’s what they’ve always been to each other, and that’s the only thing that hasn’t changed.

He doesn’t know the origin of all the scars on Dean’s body, nor the ones on Dean’s heart. He cannot heal them, so he leans down and kisses the ones he can reach, barely grazing his lips over the warm, tan skin of Dean’s neck and jawline, and touching the rest with the pads of his fingers, acknowledging all of them as part of Dean, and thus part of himself, accepting and adoring all the beautiful flaws in the same way one accepts a great work of art.

Dean stirs, shifting slightly, and looks up at Cas, rubbing his eyes.

Cas likes that Dean doesn’t look at the clock on their bedside table, and he doesn’t stretch or attempt to get up so he can greet the day ahead of them. He just stares at Cas and smiles, blinking sleepily and pulling himself closer into Cas’s embrace, nuzzling his face into Cas’s neck and pressing lazy kisses onto it; tiny, satisfied groans of wakefulness escaping him.

They don’t speak. They don’t need to. Verbal communication has never been Dean’s biggest strength, and since Dean taught Cas how to be human, Cas doesn’t communicate verbally very often either. That’s perfectly fine with Cas, who feels Dean’s affections resonate within him whenever they meet each other’s gaze, whenever they make love, whenever Dean gives him that shy smile that he never lets anyone else see but Cas, the goofy, boyish grin he gets when Cas looks at him the right way, like he realizes for a single moment that he’s worth being looked at the way Cas looks at him, he’s worth being touched the way Cas touches him, he’s worth being loved the way Cas loves him.

Cas proposes to Dean every day with his eyes, and every day, Dean says yes with his smile in turn, and every day is like their wedding day, and every night is like their wedding night. The symbol of their love is not in trinkets, but in passion, quiet moans and sweet nothings whispered in each other’s ears as they give one another the pleasures they had denied themselves for eternity.

Cas is not afraid of his past, and he is not afraid of his future. He knows that every moment of his limited existence will be spent by Dean’s side, protecting Dean against the now-figurative monsters that haunt him, holding him and grounding him and making sure no other scars befall him, because Cas has already set the constellations on his skin, and he will not let them falter.

Dean rolls over and stares up at Cas, bereft of every emotion but simple, blissful contentment etched across his features, and Cas lifts his hand to trace the intricate constellations of Dean’s freckles with his fingers. They shift when Dean smiles, and Cas leans down to kiss them all instead, because he does not need to look at them to know them. He does not need to see Dean’s scars to know the pain of them. He does not need to hear the words of Dean’s immense love for Cas to know that it is true, and it is unyielding, and it is eternal.

This moment seems so small, and so short. A human life feels so small in the great expanse of the universe, and it feels so short in the great expanse of reality. But, as he stares into the ever-blazing green eyes of this brilliant masterpiece, Cas knows that this present moment, tiny although it may be, is an eternity in itself, and that there will always be greatness in the smallest of things.


End file.
